Tales of a young Eagle
by Theoris
Summary: The first day as a novice of Masyaf turned out to be a lot harder than Altaïr expected. Suddenly he has lessons to take, homework to do and rivals to beat. And of course a long and eventful journey to travel before he becomes a real Assassin...
1. Introduction

"Master! A child is outside of our gates!"

Al Mualim, the leader of the assassins turned from his bookshelf and fixed his eyes on the arriving man.

"A lonely child, Azeem?"

"No," the one called Azeem answered. "By the looks of it, he is dragging with him a wounded one as well."

Al Mualim nodded at his assassin.

"Then go and bring them to me."

"Yes, Master!"

Azeem bowed quickly and ran towards the railing. He grabbed it and dropped from the balcony rather than taking the stairs down. He landed close to some of the retired assassins and they shook their heads in disapproval at the behaviour of young man. Azeem ignored them and sprinted down the road towards the gates as fast as his strong legs could carry him.

When being close enough to be spotted by the guards, the assassin waved at them to open up. They did so and as the heavy wooden doors opened, a small boy and his companion could be visible.

He was wounded in his shoulder, but he kept dragging the one lying in the dust. The companion looked bigger than himself and it went on slowly. Azeem hurried forward as the guards assisted; carefully lifting up the boy's companion and carrying him inside. The boy stepped out of their way and faced Azeem when he went closer.

The assassin frowned upon the sight of the poor boy. His face and dark brown hair was covered in dirt and dust from a long trip. His clothes were worn and didn't quite cover the boy on every part of his body. But the wound on his shoulder looked worst and Azeem guessed that it was old and probably infected.

"Are you alright, son?" he asked as gently as he could. The boy nodded too fast and threw a glance at his companion, whom now lay on a bed of sackcloth and was looked over by the healers that had been nearby.

"My mother," he whispered. Azeem frowned again and carefully placed a hand on the boy's back, guiding him forward. The youngling's skin burned under his palm and the assassin assumed that he had a fever.

As they arrived beside the wounded woman, the boy fell to his knees. He stared up in the concerned faces of the hooded strangers, looking for help. One healer with a long, brown beard shook his head at the boy.

"Altaïr…"

The weak voice startled them all. The boy leaned closer and grabbed the woman's dirty hand.

"Mother..!" he gasped, tears gathered in his copper coloured eyes. All the men leaned in to hear the poor woman out, but as briefly as she had opened her eyes, she closed them once more. The small hand in which the boy had held in his tiny, fell out of his grasp and hit the dusty ground with a soft sound.

The men around slowly got to their feet and returned to their posts and some of them started to close the massive gate. The healer and another soldier reached for one more sackcloth and carefully lay it over the woman.

"No…!" the boy cried. He reached out for her wrist, but as the men lifted his woman up, her hand was removed from his. There was however a small ripping sound as one of her bracelets broke and landed in the boy's hand. He didn't look at it and tried to get to his feet. Azeem, who remembered the horrible body heat, hurried forward to catch the boy as he fainted.

* * *

**An idea I have had in my head for quite some time. :3**

**This story will feature the early life of Altaïr. That means that I will give you my picture of how it all started and also tell you of his first years as a novice, his first encounter with Malik and also his first steps into the world of a warrior. **

**Review please and tell me of your opinions! :)**

**-Theoris**


	2. The new boy

The daylight found its way into his eyes and he winked hard to get rid of the drowsiness. Altaïr slowly sat up in the soft bed and looked around in his small chamber. Except for the bed there was also a small table with a chair, a bookshelf and a big piece of cloth that covered most of the wall. It wore the emblem of the assassins.

That much Altaïr already knew. He was also aware that he was in the city of Masyaf – which meant that his journey for now was completed. At least according to what his mother had said.

Remembering her death, the boy made a grimace of agony and locked is young hands with each other. That was when he realized that he wore one of her bracelet – the one with black pearls made out of stone. Altaïr raised his left wrist to the level of his eyes and slowly slid a finger down the soft beads, thinking of the times that he had played with them. He resisted a sob and lowered his arm again.

Steps could be heard from out of his room and the boy went curious and relieved to turn his attention on something less painful.

"How does he fare, Azeem?" a dark but strong voice spoke.

"Well, Master," another man answered.

"Good. Is he ready for a visit?"

"Absolutely, Master."

The door opened and the pair walked in. The taller one Altaïr recognized as the man who had talked to him at the gates. He looked like he was in his twenties and his face was rough but kind. He wore the white hood up, but he took it down when they entered the room, revealing tousled, black hair and hazel eyes. He also had a small piece of beard down his chin.

The other man looked older, though he didn't follow the younger one's example when removing the hood. He wasn't dressed in the colour of grey or white, but in a black, closed robe. His beard was dark brown and longer too, but still not as long as the ones of older men.

When he leaned closer to Altaïr, he saw that the right eye of the man was missing its sight. The boy raised an eyebrow at his discovery.

"Greetings, child," the older man said.

"My name is Al Mualim and I am the master of the assassins." The authority of his voice told Altaïr that more than the words did and the boy nodded slowly. _No doubt of that,_ he thought.

"This is one of my assassins; Azeem Ibn Rais. He is one of our best teachers in the art of swordship."

Azeem nodded towards Altaïr and smiled. The boy smiled back.

"Now, son, it is time for you to speak. What is your name and why have you come here?"

Altaïr faced Al Mualim again and his smile faded slowly.

"My name is Altaïr…" he began, but stopped and stared down on his knees, still covered by the white blanket.

"I…do not know who my father was," he whispered and looked up again. *

"But mother spoke of him as a great man, who gave his life to protect his comrades." The boy didn't even try to hide the proud as he spoke, and the men watched him with grave eyes.

"I and my mother were travelling with a caravan towards Jerusalem when the bandits attacked. They were many and they killed near all of us. My mother…was hurt and while we escaped she told me of this city, to guide me here and seek help."

Altaïr stopped his telling and glanced at the bracelet from the corner of his eyes.

"She often told me stories of the assassins. Of you. That you did not just kill, but also protected the people of the Holy Land. I suspected my father to be one of you, but she never told me more than necessarily…" This time he was interrupted by Al Mualim, who raised a hand in the air.

"It is alright, my child. You do not need to convince anyone. If you do not mind - may I suggest a new name for you?"

The boy nodded slightly.

"You shall be referred as Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad. You will be the son of none, but yet a son. Is it to your liking?"

Altaïr thought about it for some seconds, but then he lightened up.

"It is, Master," he answered, imitating how Azeem had addressed Al Mualim before. The boy glanced at the assassin and saw how he winked back.

"Which reminds me," the leader of the assassins said and the boy faced him again.

"What are you going to do now, Altaïr? Do you have place to go to or any family?"

Altaïr bit his lip.

"I have not. If it is not to ask of too much, I would gladly accept a place among you."

Al Mualim smiled as if he had never expected any different.

"Then it is decided. You will become a novice – a student in our Brotherhood – and you shall, if you are worthy, become an assassin one day as well."

With those words, the master left the small room without glancing back once. Altaïr turned to Azeem with a confused expression.

"Well, this is your chamber," the assassin said, which only deepened the frown on Altaïr's forehead.

"So he did expect me to stay all along, did he not?" he asked and found the answer to that in the form of another winking from Azeem.

"He did. Not that anyone else would expect otherwise, when you came here with only your mother…" He didn't finish and the boy felt thankful for that. As he sat up more, a growing headache screamed for his attention.

"Ouh…" he groaned. "For how long was I out?"

"We treated you from a fever," Azeem explained. "The wound in your shoulder was already infected, but now it has healed just fine. About two days, if you count from the moment you fainted."

Altaïr could barely believe his ears.

"Two days?" he repeated.

"Then my mother…is she…?"

"Yes. She now rests at the hill of the fallen families of the assassins. You may visit her grave whenever you please."

Altaïr nodded slowly and tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it felt too dry. He slowly got out of the bed just in time for his stomach to growl loudly.

"Ah, of course," Azeem smiled and stroke his chin.

"You will have to eat something first."

The boy mumbled something and stumbled towards the door.

"Not so fast, young man," the assassin said and grabbed him by the collar.

"First, we will have to make you presentable."

He went over at the bookshelf and opened a chest next to in, and took out a grey tunic, dark pants and a pair of leather boots.

"You are one of us now – and by that you will look like us too. From what city did you come from anyway?"

"From Arsuf, sire."

Azeem grimaced at the addressing and handed the clothes to Altaïr.

"One can see that," he grinned.

* * *

The assassin – that from now on would work as a mentor to Altaïr – guided him down to the dining hall. It was a massive room filled with cloths with the symbol, tables and chairs, a lot of people of course and also a statue that stood close to the stairs that they walked down. It portrayed a man dressed as an assassin and he also had his sword drawn. In the other hand, Altaïr saw a small hourglass.

"You will read about this man in the history class," Azeem told him and dragged him away to the great table in the middle, were all the food was delivered to. When the boy faced all the dices he immediately forgot the statue and he stared as if he had never seen so much food in one place before.

"Are there any dates?" he asked hopefully and Azeem laughed as he poured a handful on Altaïr's plate.

The boy was still in shock.

"This is so much," he said and tried to pick a piece of everything.

"How many lives here, Azeem?"

The assassin stroke his chin as he thought.

"Well, the number changes each day," he said and nodded towards the boy.

"So, today the number increased severely?" Altaïr asked and made a gesture over all the dices in various colours and sizes.

"Naw, it is usually like this," he said and laughed at the expression of his protégé.**

"But how many lives here today then?"

Azeem shook his head.

"Do not forget that you are supposed to eat too. Why do you not ask your friends over at that table?" Altaïr faced the direction that his mentor watched, and not far away, there was a table with five boys who waved eagerly at him.

"New one! Come sit with us!" they screamed. Altair frowned at the assassin in front of him.

"Oh no, you are supposed to make your allies. Off with you now," he said and left the table to sit with some of his age. Altaïr looked down in his full plate and put a date in his mouth before he turned around and directed his steps towards the awaiting boys.

"Greetings, newcomer," the one in the middle said as Altaïr sat down in the empty seat at the opposite of him. His hair was black and the eyes were dark brown. He looked more confident than the rest and as he spoke first, Altaïr guessed that he was the leader of the group.

"Greetings…?"

"Malik Al-Sayf," the boy hurried to say.

"Pleasure," Altaïr said monotony and popped another date in his mouth.

"I am Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad."

The group went silent when they heard of his unusual name. Then suddenly the boy with reddish hair on Malik's left side snorted and grinned.

"You do not know your father?" he asked in an arrogant voice.

"My name is Qays Ibn Tarif and if you have not heard of _my_ father yet, I am sure that you will very soon!"

"You should not brag about your family," said the boy who sat at the opposite of Qays. This ones hair and eyes were as black as night and he showed hardly any emotion.

"I warned you, Numair…" the red head snarled and made an attempt to get up from his chair, but Malik stopped him.

"Enough. Qays, Numair," the leader said and gave them each a look that told them that he didn't want to see anymore quarrel. Then he pointed at the eating Altaïr.

"If he has no knowledge of his father, then that is his loss."

"At least I am not named after a weapon," Altaïr said between two chews. Now all the boys turned to Malik with concern in their eyes. The only one who didn't keep staring at him was the boy to his right, who merely stared down on his plate. When Altaïr looked closer on him, he noticed several similarities between him and Malik.

The leader called for Altaïr's attention by slamming his fist into the table, which caused the last date on the newcomer's plate to jump into the air and fall to the dirty stone floor.

"You think you are better than me?" Malik hissed with fury in his voice.

"I might," Altaïr answered, now starting to get annoyed. The group around them leaned in.

"Then I shall show you that a son of a sword is worth more than a son of nothing!"

"And I shall show _you_ how much I am worth when I am done with you," Altaïr spat and had barely time to blink when the fist of the leader landed hard on his nose. It felt as if his face was on fire and Altair groaned, but he managed to return the favour in the form of a black eye on Malik. The boy roared and they both got to their feet.

But at that point the rest of the assassins around had noticed the fight, and the closest ones stepped between the boys.

"Altaïr!" Azeem yelled and grabbed his protégé by his hood.

"If I see any of that behaviour here, I will throw you all out instantly!" he warned and the boys nodded slowly in shame. The assassin gave Altaïr one last look before he returned to his table.

One boy who sat next to Numair turned to the newcomer.

"Is your mentor Azeem?" he asked in awe. The shy boy next to Malik started to stare and even Numair raised an eyebrow.

Altaïr shrugged.

"He is," he said and received some jealous looks from the boys.

"But what about that?" he asked with a frown, but Malik interrupted the tiny boy who had asked with a gesture.

"We have still not finished this," he said and his face became grave as he faced Altaïr.

"I suggest we meet outside."

Altaïr nodded with narrowed eyes. He was as eager to fight as this Malik. His poor nose reminded him of its condition when blood slowly made its way out and down towards his over lip. The newcomer swept it away with the back of his hand.

"Why make it so simple?" the dark Numair objected.

"We could hold a contest with several tasks instead."

"Yes, with three hard tasks!" the tiny boy beside him agreed eagerly.

"The one who wins two of them shall be the victorious!"

"But who will decide what tasks we shall face?" Malik asked with growing interest. Such a contest would not just prove him to be stronger than Altaïr, but would also be a great opportunity to show off.

"Leave that to us," Qays said and grinned.

"What do you say, Altaïr?" Numair asked.

The newcomer faced them all and nodded once.

"I will be there," he decided.

"Let us plan tonight and then the contest will be tomorrow after the writing class," Qays said and took a large bite of his apple.

"Good luck, newcomer!" he said mockingly.

* * *

When Altaïr left the dining hall, he heard approaching steps behind him.

"Wait, Altaïr!"

He turned around and found that is was the tiny, but kind boy who had followed in his steps.

"May I show you around?"

It was a good idea, because the newcomer hadn't had any time left to explore the area yet. A well informed guide wouldn't hurt.

"I would like that," he answered and the boy smiled.

"I am Raouf," he said as they walked up more stairs.

"I see, " Altaïr said with a smile.

"By the way - who is the quite boy? The one who sat next to Malik?"

"That is Kadar, his brother by blood. You see, among the Brotherhood, everyone refer each others as brothers, but _they_ are it for real."

Altaïr nodded and they walked on in silence until they showed up in an open place with fountains, maidens and flowers.

"The Garden of delight," Raouf explained and they looked around shortly for a moment before walking back into the Fortress.

"You know, by delight they do not necessarily mean all the plants," he whispered as he leaned closer to Altaïr's ear. The newcomer grimaced.

"You mean that the women there are for…?"

"Absolutely."

"That is just disgusting."

"It is. But who can understand grown ups anyway?"

"True."

As they walked away from the "tainted" garden, Altaïr couldn't help but shudder as he imagined too much. Raouf laughed.

Next place to explore was the library. It turned out that it started right under the office that belonged to Al Mualim, just a stair away from the Garden. Altaïr frowned when he saw about six bookshelves.

"This would not happen to be all, would it?" he asked Raouf. The boy shook his head.

"Oh no, this is just an entry."

He walked closer to a corner to the left and opened a door.

"Down here awaits the _real_ treasure," he said and Altaïr, who suspected what he thought of, grinned.

The tunnel was rather long and dark, but thanks to the kind souls that had lit torches all the way, the walk was quite enjoyable. To think that they were several meters under the Fortress made Altaïr to smile for himself. It felt exiting.

"You do realize that Numair sort of saved you there?"

"Hmm?" Altaïr said, not really seeing what his companion meant.

"You know, when he suggested a contest instead of just a fight?"

When Altaïr didn't comment, Raouf continued.

"I mean, you would have been beaten pretty badly if he had not convinced Malik."

"You have no faith in me at all?" Altaïr asked and stroke his swollen nose. It had stopped bleeding put it was still sore.

"Faith does not make you hit harder," Raouf said wisely and inspected Altaïr's thin arms.

"Malik has more muscles than you and he would have crushed you like a butterfly if he was given the chance."

"What else do I lack?" Altaïr asked with annoyance. Raouf let go of his arms and took another glance at the newcomer's torso.

"Well, your upper body strength looks poor as well…"

"Raouf…"

"Oh, sorry. Well, as long as you use your wits I believe you will do fine."

"Then I shall do so." Altaïr grumbled and Raouf smiled.

* * *

* - He can't finish his name because he doesn't know what his father was called. (The "Ibn" in Azeem's name means "son of", and Altaïr was unable to finish his entire name because he lacked the necessary knowledge).

** - (Altaïr: "Sweet!") **  
**

**Well then, that was the second chapter and I hope you enjoyed it. The contest awaits!  
What did you think of the characters so far? :)**

**-Theoris**


	3. First task

**Hi!**

**Thanks for the support so far! I gladly presents the third chapter, in which a lot will happen. This took a long time to write, and looking upon it, I'm quite pleased with how it turned out. But the final opinion is up to you, so please enjoy and review! :)**

**- Theoris**

* * *

The bed that had been given too him was the softest thing Altaïr had felt in many weeks. It was so good that it made him wonder how he could have missed that fact while he spent several hours in it recovering from the shoulder wound.

He yawned and glanced out though the window nearby. The sky was still dim and the sun had barely made it up_. In that case, I might be able to rest some more_, he thought and closed his copper eyes again. The boy slowly dozed of again and embraces the goddess of sleep herself. He stayed in the landscape in between dreaming and being awake, fancying that he could somewhat control the vague fragments of dreams by just choosing a interesting thought to follow. He picked his and his mother's old farm on the countryside. They hadn't exactly lived in Arsuf that he had mentioned earlier, but instead nearby, closer up on the hills than near the seaside that the city rested by. Arsuf was a small town that consisted mostly of its ports. One day an animal trader had come by with his ship full of pets. Altaïr ended up buying a small kitten (after spending several hours begging his mother for it) and no one could be happier than him that day. The trader told him that the cat was an Abyssinian, a race from the south that was known to be very lively and playful. It seemed as if he was right, because the kitten kept the boy busy for every day of every week. They would play together, climb in date-trees and even have their meals at the same time. Altaïr had soon named the little Abyssinian to Haytham which meant 'hawk' in arabic. It was a good name according to the boy, for his new friend didn't only act like an animal that spent more time in the air than on the ground – the colour of his fur was blue and grey with a lighter tone on the stomach, which also made him look a lot like the predator bird.

The dream slowly faded as the boy remembered that Haytham had disappeared in the attack of the caravan they all had travelled with. Altaïr sighed unhappily. Now that his mother wasn't by his side anymore, the company of his soft friend had been most appreciated…

"Altaïr? Are you awake yet?"

The voice came from outside his door.

"Yes, sire," he called back and Azeem walked in. He took a quick peek around in the room before closing the door and making himself comfortable in the chair close to the bed.

"So how are we today? And stop sire me please – you make me feel old." The assassin stretched and cracked his neck to both sides, which put a slight grin on the boy's face.

"I am but well. How do you fare, Azeem?" Altaïr asked politely. He wasn't entirely genuine by his condition, but he didn't want to bring it up. It would probably be best if he just forgot about his old family now and concentrated on his new.

"I am slowly considering myself lucky to have become your mentor, Altaïr," the assassin smiled. "You are one of the kindest boys I have met in a while, and then you ought to know that I have encountered many younglings in my early life."

Altaïr, who thought about yesterdays encounter with Malik, Qays and the other boys, sighed not too discreet. Azeem frowned slightly.

"So, how is it going with the other novices? Made any friends yet?"

Altaïr wasn't really sure if it would be such a good idea to spill the afternoons contest to the other man and he thought hard to come up with a better answer. But then he remembered.

"Yes, yes indeed I has," he said and nodded. "His name is Raouf and he showed me around yesterday."

The news seemed to put Azeem to quite some ease. Although this was only the boy's second day here awake, it absolutely never hurt to have friends this early.

"Ah, the son of Nimr. I am sure he will provide you with the most valuable support."

Altaïr kept silent, deep in thoughts as he fixed his gaze on the blanket covering his lower body.

"Well, enough of that. I am sure you are eager to hear about your new schedule?"

During the twenty minutes that followed, Altaïr would learn that among the Brotherhood there was different ranks and each rank had their own schedule. As a novice, he was the lowest grade and would only be allowed to study theoretical subjects so far, but the higher rank he reached, the more physical his schedule would be. Azeem provided him with a piece of parchment where the mentor had already written down all of Altaïr's lessons. It turned out that he would have a different lesson each day except for Sunday. Scanning the schedule Altaïr found that he would probably have a great deal of free time and that thought felt like a gem.

After dressing, eating the bread Azeem had brought, and being shooed away to the writing class for the novices, Altaïr jogged through the stone corridors happily. It felt so incredible good to move and he accelerated in content mode, feeling the air whine in his ears. Perhaps a life here would be even better than he hoped for.

The impact launched him backwards and made him hit his head hard in the stone floor. Altaïr groaned from the horrible pain, but managed to open one eye anyway and realize what had happened.

The man he had bumped into wasn't dressed as the usual assassin. The red sash was in place, but the tunic under it was black and lastly he wore a white coat. The man coughed and held a hand to his head, while stretched his other arm out for the couple of books that he had dropped to the floor.

"I am…I am truly sorry, sire!" Altaïr gasped in hurry between the jolts of fire from the back of his head. He did his best to get to his feet and offered the older man a hand.

"Hrmm! What do you mean by running around like a scared mare? You behave as if you are but five years old! What is your name, boy?" he spat and brushed some dust away from his white beard. Altaïr's heart sank in unison with the hand he had offered.

"Altaïr, sire" he said silently. The old man dusted of his books and got to his feet, piercing his eyes into Altaïr's.

"Yes, the new novice," he stated with an annoyed tone. "I am your writing instructor and you are supposed to wait for the lesson to start in that chamber." The instructor pointed two doors behind Altaïr.

As the walked in, the novice found that the entire class had already gathered in the wooden benches. By their looks and whisperings, they had overheard the conversation. Altaïr tried to swallow away the lump that filled up his throat as he hurried to an available bench and sat down.

The timed passed on oh so slowly. Altaïr had not written much before in his life, and therefore he struggled long with the same text as others moved on with other tasks. He was supposed copying a text about poetry, but barely half through the instructor called the class over. He noticed Altaïr's lack of progress with a haughty snort and gave the newcomer both the poetry text and another text that was a common homework for the whole class. It comforted him a bit when remembering the fact that he had a whole week before the homework had to be done, and with that thought in his head Altaïr got out of his seat and found that the boys from yesterday eyed him with interest. Malik was positioned on his bench and the other sat around him, Qays and Numair on his right side and Raouf on his left.

Altaïr hadn't had more time to think about today's contest with Malik, and now that he recalled it a small part of him wished that he hadn't. Not that Altaïr would ever accept to be looked upon as a coward, but merely because this day didn't really go as planned. He took a deep breath to steady himself and walked over to the boys.

"Greetings," he started and took a quick look upon them all. Altaïr noticed that Kadar, Malik's brother, wasn't present, and also that his newfound friend Raouf looked at him with a worried gaze. Altaïr gave him a confident smile.

"Greetings, Altaïr," Malik said and bowed ironically. "They have decided the task for today. Are you still in or do you want to run home to mommy instead?"

Altaïr gritted his teeth and automatically reached for the bracelet he wore on his left wrist. His reaction hadn't gone unnoticed, for Raouf frowned as he guessed the fact that Altaïr knew and the others didn't. He slowly shook his head, as if to comfort his friend somewhat by pointing out that Malik couldn't know that Altaïr's mother was dead. The new novice dropped his arms and took a hard step forward. He let out his anger in one, hard blow as he smashed his closed fist into the bench only next to Malik.

"I am not running anywhere," he hissed and the determined attitude even erased the grin of Qays' face. He jumped down from the bench he had rested on and positioned himself so that he was between Malik and Altaïr.

"We shall see about that after today!" he declared and his confidence helped Malik to compose himself. Even Numair smiled half a smile.

The group of novices hurried through the fortress and across the courtyard. Altaïr throw a gaze at the sparring ring and felt some excitement stir its way through his body. Perhaps one day he would stand there, undefeated…

Qays continued down the hillside and suddenly walked of the way to follow a small path instead. The guiding tour with Raouf had mostly contained a walk behind the fortress walls, and outside in Masyaf Altaïr was still as lost as a newborn.

The path turned out to lead down to the great river that rushed next to the mountain. The boys suddenly halted were the river was most broad and were there was several of stoned pointing up through the water. Remembering the worried look from Raouf, the huge smile on Qays face suddenly felt most suspicious.

"Let us start with the first task in this contest," Numair began and placed himself with his back against the mountainside so that they all could see and hear him clearly. His voice was as mysterious as his appearance; filled with different tones but no clear emotion.

"I will explain the rules as Qays here fetches some…necessities." The boy with reddish hair waved and ran of towards some trees.

"It is actually extremely simple. Do you see all the rocks there in the water? You are supposed to use them as ground to prevent yourselves from falling into the water. You will both be provided with a tree branch and you will use this branch to try and hit one another with. The first of you two who falls into the water will loose the task."

Raouf searched for Altaïr's eyes, but the newcomer ignored him. He eyed the water and dearly wished that the stream wasn't as strong as it appeared to be. Altaïr wasn't the best swimmer, but not the worst either. But if the stream was strong enough, no skill would matter. Either way, he would have to be the quickest and finish Malik fast before he would finish him. Raouf was right in the difference of size between them; as Malik pulled his grey tunic over his head Altaïr could see that several muscles had already started to gather. Altaïr followed his example and promised that if Malik won because of those, the newcomer would immediately start to build some own muscles.

Qays returned with two branches and handed them to the contestants. Altaïr noticed that his branch was almost a hand shorter than Malik's, but he said nothing. Malik kicked of his boots and jumped out on the rocks almost all the way to the other side of the shore.

"Let us get started," he roared and Altaïr jumped out as well.

The stones were a lot more slippery than the newcomer had expected at first. He nearly lost balance right at the start, but managed to wave himself upright again thanks to the branch._ I need to focus on Malik…only on him and nothing else, _he thought and tried to feel the wet stone with every inch of his feet.

"Get ready…!" Numair shouted. "Three, two…one!"

Malik launched forward, carried down his branch over his head to try and strike Altaïr right on. He quickly blocked and felt his arms protest against the unprepared treatment. He slipped with his right foot and fell to his knee.

_I need to finish him before he finishes me…!_

His opponent raised the branch to strike one more time, but Altaïr had already begun his counterattack. He got to his feet with a roar, swinging the piece of tree from the side. It hit Malik hard in his stomach, and the bigger one bent forward and gasped for air. Being the first one to land a blow, Altaïr's hope rose and he swung again, but missed when Malik throw himself away from the threat and stopped several stones away to catch his breath. The other boys on the shore started to shout, but Altaïr couldn't care less for what they said right now. He eyed Malik carefully, like a predator who's found his prey. Surprise played in Malik's features, as if he didn't expect any resistance at all. Altaïr couldn't blame him, for it was true that he didn't had that much muscles yet, and he hadn't had much time to learn to write properly either. He was also a horrible singer, and sometimes he could forget all about what happened around him. But he did possess something that most boys in his years lacked…

Malik glared in fury at him, probably somewhat humiliated. He pulled himself up with his branch and crouched, ready to attack Altaïr again. The newcomer decided to await him this time.

The leader of the boys roared and ran closer, jumping on the stones as if he had never done anything else before. Altaïr had already chosen where to go, and as the attack fell on him, the boy swiftly jumped to a stone behind Malik. Water splashed over them both as the branch hit the surface and for a brief moment Altaïr thought he would be walking away as the victor. However, as he felt the cold water patting his skin, Malik had turned around and connecting his elbow with the newcomer's chin. Altaïr felt how the rock disappeared from under his feet and he remained in the air for several seconds. _Is this how I will lose?_ _Either hit my back in cold water or on the hard stone…_ Altaïr bent his neck backwards and found that he was soon to meet the later assumption.

But Altaïr possessed something that most boys of his years lacked…

A small fire lit in his mind. He let the comforting and reassuring warmth embrace him. His eyes flew open again and with one swift movement he had grabbed his knees, tucking in midair. The at first unintentially backflip saved him from damaging his back or neck, but didn't help him with his legs, that slipped once more on the wet stone and made him both hit his knee and wrist hard. Altaïr groaned in pain, but kept the fire inside lit and stormy. He hurried forward, ignoring everything but the surprised Malik as he raised his branch and swung with all his power.

Fighting spirit.

His opponent had no time to avoid the blow that stroke on his collarbone. Malik couched heavily and dropped his branch into the river. The audience held their breath as Altaïr made himself ready for the final blow that would shove the stronger boy into the water. He swung and took a step closer for the extra force…

That's when he realised that suddenly his foothold was gone. But now the time went on as it should and he had barely time to breath in as he hit the water with a loud splash. The coldness took a hold of his entire body and made its way in his eyes, ears and nose. Altaïr let go of the piece of tree and kicked for the surface. He broke through with a gasp, but felt how the stream grabbed his legs and pulled him down again. Everything speeded up as he was dragged against the bottom of mud and stones. The panic was accelerating as the amount of air he had left dropped fast. He felt blindly after something to help him away from the stream, but in vain. Something hard and sharp hit him in the side, but didn't stop his journey in the dark water.

Altaïr realised through his panic and fear that he couldn't hold his breath any longer as his lungs felt as if they were going to explode._ No, no, no!_ he cried out in his head and tried to swim in any direction than the stream carried him, but nothing gave him air. His arms and legs became heavier and his thoughts felt like a tornado; filled with flashes, words and pictures.

Altaïr hit something again and this time it didn't hurt that much as the first impact. Vaguely aware of that the water didn't pull at him anymore and that there was a cold breeze that tried to wake him up, the boy coughed as much as he could; replacing the liquid in his burning lungs for soft air. As he took his first full breath however, Altaïr last strength left him and his body went limp again. His mind found himself in complete blackness where nothing existed except for him. He looked around in disappointment and lay down on the dark ground to sleep, for he was very tired. But in the void of nothing, a faint sound could be heard. A light, begging noise – almost like a soft meowing…


End file.
